


O Bury Me Not

by unsuccessfulpacifist



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Is this a no Overwatch AU or just a scifi south western AU? who knows not me, Limb loss, M/M, plot heavy, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsuccessfulpacifist/pseuds/unsuccessfulpacifist
Summary: How long had he been carrying a corpse?There were patches on his tongue that refused to wet, sticking to his teeth as he tilted his head back and let his face, shaded previously from the sun by his hat, burn beneath the sunlight. He wasn't sure he could stand to bury the kid, frankly-- not sure he could stand at all. He shut his eyes, shoulders sagging and body aching.When exactly was the process of dying supposed to become a peaceful affair?Brown eyes flickering open, his reflexes were too slow and dulled to even jolt in alarm at the sight of an imposing silhouette perched across from him on the other side of the corpse that rested before him.The figure said nothing, all swathed in an inky black that was hard to look at -- that ate up the sunlight like it was made of a shadow, pure and simple. Like the light didn't dare touch that void. Couldn't stand it. All darkness aside from the stark white of a bony mask, through which that emptiness stared back at him.He really was dying, then, wasn't he? And here he was awaited by the Reaper.





	1. Graves in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> short chapters while i get used to writing real fics again

_"Oh, Bury me not..." His voice failed there;_  
_We took no heed of his dying prayer._  
_In a narrow grave, six by three,_  
_We buried him there on the Lone Prairie._  


* * *

 

 

"Silas?"  
  
It had been hours since he heard the other speak. Finally the heat of the day and the exhaustion of it all had reduced him to his knees, where he now knelt beside the still figure he had been hauling around for almost a day and a half.   
  
How long had he been carrying a corpse?   
  
There were patches on his tongue that refused to wet, sticking to his teeth as he tilted his head back and let his face, shaded previously from the sun by his hat, burn beneath the sunlight. He wasn't sure he could stand to bury the kid, frankly-- not sure he could stand at all. He shut his eyes, shoulders sagging and body aching.   
  
When exactly was the process of dying supposed to become a peaceful affair?   
  
It was hard to tell how long he'd been resting there, succumbed to the scrub land's unyielding climate. They had been idiots to try and run on a whim. No wonder no one had followed after them. After a time, he grew steadily aware that he wasn't alone. It wasn't Silas's presence that hung in the air, but something heavier.   
  
Brown eyes flickering open, his reflexes were too slow and dulled to even jolt in alarm at the sight of an imposing silhouette perched across from him on the other side of the corpse that rested before him.

The figure said nothing, all swathed in an inky black that was hard to look at -- that ate up the sunlight like it was made of a shadow, pure and simple. Like the light didn't dare touch that void. Couldn't stand it. All darkness aside from the stark white of a bony mask, through which that emptiness stared back at him.   
  
He really was dying, then, wasn't he? And here he was awaited by the Reaper.   
  
"Damn... Death sure don't look invitin'." 

Unsurprisingly, the Reaper said nothing.   
  
"Not chatty, eh? That's fair. Just doin' your job -- no better than a vulture, waitin' around for me to die." His eyes slid shut and he sighed heavily. How long would that be?   
  
_"I only need one soul."_ The rasp of gravel against itself, of thunder spawned from an oncoming storm still miles out.    
  
This prompted him to open his eyes once more, blinking blearily. He had half expected the phantom to be gone -- nothing more than a hallucination of a sun-poisoned mind.  
  
But the figure persisted, peering back at him.   
  
"The hell are you on about?" His words were guarded and cautious, squinting a bit at the unchanging mask.   
  
_"You're still alive, so I'm giving you a choice. Your soul, or his."_

"You ain't here to usher us to a nice after life, are ya'?" The realization sparked the faintest hint of a chill in his spine. It brought more questions than revelations.  
  
The Reaper made no comment, so the young man let his gaze slide towards Silas's body. This would be the time for thoughtful silence, but his head was full of noise and clamor, leaving concepts hazy and distant.  
  
"Take his." No one ever claimed he was a selfless man.  
  
_"You'll still die."_  
  
The spoken fact just brought an edge of exhaustion and defeat into his posture.  
  
"Better'n'whatever you'll do with my tarnished soul, I'm sure."   
  
There was another pause and he swallowed roughly, hanging his head with a soft groan. "Any chance you could speed this whole thing up?"  
  
_"I could... Or we could make a deal."_


	2. Dealing with Demons

I stared right into the endless void  
And I ain't going back if I got any choice  
I know how to live, I don't know how to die  
And there ain't no thrills in the afterlife

 

* * *

 

   


Dusk fell across the board with long, stretching shadows from the buildings nearby. The dusted wind rattled sun-dried papers against each other like a rustic kind of wind chime. Everything hung on the board from public service announcements to wanted posters -- there had never been a need or the means to upgrade the backwater system of justice and communication, so folks still took pen to paper and pinned it up against the well weathered wood.

Boots caked in dust and mud settled before the sign and shaded brown eyes flickered over the various options laid out before him. He tilted his hat back and scratched against the stubble that shadowed his lower jaw. “So’s this kind’a like some fucked up menu for you?”

“ _Just_ find _something.”_

“Someone, you mean.” A frown alighted on rugged features and he tossed a sidelong glance to the wraith, who make a soft, noncommittal sound and said no more. “They’re still people. Just ‘cause you’re a hungry bastard don’t mean they matter less.”

“Yea’? So am I.” This seemed to quiet the creature once more and the man looked back to the board in the passive silence that settled between them.  
  
He plucked a face from the others finally and flashed it briefly towards the Reaper. “Saw this guy yesterday. If he’s still hangin’ around town, we’ll see to it he don’t cause more trouble.” The bounty wasn’t anything substantial, but it would be enough to feed and house the human portion of the unholy duo for awhile more.   
  
The two of them headed down the rough road that carved its way through the ramshackle buildings. The rundown bar they ended up at was precisely the place he liked to visit, which meant, in turn, there was a decent chance of running into this poor son of a bitch. It doubled as an excuse to grab a drink in the meantime.

 

“Evenin’,” he rasped amiably to the bartender as he settled himself on a bar stool off to the side that offered a decent view of the rest of the main room. “Three fingers of whatever this’ll buy.” He set a few spare credits on the counter and slide them over. The other man swept them up and headed off to find something fitting.  
  
He could see Reaper looming by the wall nearby, but that wasn’t much of a concern. He’d long since realized he was the only one with eyes to see the death omen.

He settled in for an inevitable evening of playing watch dog as the barkeep set the heavy glass in front of him before heading off to tend to other customers.   
  
“I’d offer you a drink but…”   
  
_“Pass.”_ On a good day, Reaper didn’t tend to have a great sense of humor. This wasn’t one of them, evident by the snarl thrumming beneath the reply.

"You ever thought of goin' vegetarian?" Sometimes it was hard not to taunt the creature. Complacency brought out the worst in him. "Didn't think so. 'S'alright. I couldn't do it neither."

 

It was a few more attempted conversations with Reaper later before the man fell silent finally, that uncomfortable sense of being watched prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. His eyes swept the bar, scanning the faces of the various patrons until finally he found the interested party.

It was a woman, a pretty one. Not that he’d met very many women he didn’t find pretty. He’d seen his fair share of pretty men too, but that was neither here nor there.   
  
She had skin a shade darker than his own suntanned hide, eyes so dark they were almost black. He held eye contact for several long seconds, determined not to be the one to break first. Still, she offered up a small smirk and then cast her gaze down, lifting a drink to her lips.   
  
Grinning wryly, he turned his attention back to his own drink. WIth any luck, she was interested in him for reasons that didn’t have to do with the considerable bounty on his head. Then again, he didn’t tend to have much luck these days.   
  
Maybe it was karma for harvesting souls for a parasitic monster.   
  
Before much else could happen, the doors were shoved open and several heavy sets of footsteps burst into the establishment.

The click of readying guns had several of the patrons whipping around, but the man at the bar simply set his glass down and kept his eyes forward. No rest for the wicked, it would seem.  
  
“There ‘e is!” It was a gruff voice that spoke up first and Reaper rumbled softly with a growl of discontent.

“ _They’re after you._ ”

“Ain’t surprisin’,” he drawled in response and finally shifted to turn around on the barstool and leaned back, letting his arms reach back and rest elbows against the bartop. The motion drew his serape back, letting the gun at his side glint in the dimly lit room.  
  
“How can I help you boys?”   
  
Apparently they weren’t the chatty type. Six of them -- son of a bitch -- stood with guns up, wariness and greed warring over their hesitation to shoot. Man with that kind of bounty didn’t tend to go down so easily, but it was hard not to fish after the price on his head. That kind of currency made a poor man’s life awful cushioned.   
  
“Simmer down, fellas. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble on account of I _am_ trouble. So run along ‘fore I get too riled up.” He sat up at that moment, leaning forward with an air of nonchalance.   
  
The shift of an arm brought him out of his seat, dodging fast to the side as a gunshot tore through the still air. A few patrons began shouting, drawing their own guns instinctively against the oncoming firefight. He didn’t get a chance to see where the woman went, but hoped she got out of the way. He didn’t like casualties.   
  
A few more shots whizzed too close for comfort, but he played it hard and fast. Rolling forward, he sprang up and ripped a flashbang from where they sat at his hip and send it into the center of the posse before drawing back to shield his eyes. The sound alone was enough to startle the men, but the flash left most of them blinking away stars.

  
Taking advantage of this, their target flipped his gun up and started backwards as he took three well placed shots. Half the group was left sprawling on the floor and choking on blood as the others collected themselves with wild shots to drive the gunslinger away until they could aim properly.   
  
He rolled over the bar and ducked down behind it to reload the shots he had used up and a few glasses overhead shattered, spewing their broken pieces onto the floor. He hissed a curse as he shifted and the shards dug into his knees and ground into the palm of his unarmed hand.

 

Ducking up from behind his cover, he shot down a fourth. Taking aim for the fifth, the other remaining survivor launched himself over the bar from where he’d advanced to and tackled the man to the ground. A stupid move, but he did have the size and weight advantage, even if he reeked of alcohol.

That didn’t deter the fist the came up and drove into his face a rapid three times. Dazed, the gun angled up under his chin made easy prey of him with a loud bang.

Blood splashed across his face and dribbling down his front, the gunslinger stood once more and did a quick sweep, only to realize the last man standing was, in fact, not standing at all. The woman stood over the corpse of the final attacker, lifting her gaze to meet his.   
  
  
“So you _are_ the _infamous_ Jesse McCree.”

 


	3. Target Practice

_I'll close your eyes so you cant see_  
_This very hour come and go with me_  
_Death I come to take the soul_  
_Leave the body and leave it cold_

 

* * *

 

“Nothin’ beats a free round.” The glass rim touched his lips and he drained the rest of the drink in one hearty swig, sighing softly as he set the empty glass back down.  
  
The woman, who had introduced herself as Cecilia, smiled thinly, tracing the edge of the glass in front of her idly. “If you help us, there’s plenty of money for you to drink yourself into happy oblivion.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Always got to talk business. When’s the time I meet a pretty lil’ lady who ain’t after my literal gun?”  
  
Reaper snorted where he sulked behind McCree. “ _Crude_.”

Stifling a reply, Jesse lifted his chin and watched Cecilia for a moment or two, gaze critical and evaluating. “What’s the job you want me to do? You seem like one of them upstanding folk. Don’t usually deal with criminals like me’n’my kind ‘less you got damn good reason.”  
  
“Our conventional methods aren’t working. So, we’re looking for...external innovation this time.”

“Didn’t answer my question,” he noted, which drew a small sigh from her.

"Simple work. Find the thorn in our paw and pluck it out by any means necessary."

"Fair enough," he sat back in the chair, lacing his arms across his chest and grunting softly. "You got any information for me to work with or am I supposed to go killin' folks until I happen across that 'thorn' a' yours by sheer dumb luck?"  
  
Another thin smile. She produced a folder, sliding it across the well worn table top towards the unsavory man seated across from her. "I assume you can read."  
  
"Y'know what they say about assumin'," McCree replied absently as he lifted the file, flipping it open and leafing mindlessly through it. "Not a lot to go on," he noted as he glanced over the top of the pages at her.  
  
She shrugged, cool gaze still trained on him with a certain intensity he wasn't particularly fond of. "I can take our business elsewhere if you cannot handle this."  
  
"Don't worry, darlin'. I'm just givin' you shit. A job's a job -- I'll get it done." He shut the folder and dropped it back on the table before him.   
  
"Good." She began to stand and his raised his brows, sitting up.  
  
"That's it, then? How do I find you when I get this poor bastard?"  
  
" _We'll_ find _you_ when you're done. Don't worry." There was something predatory in her parting smile -- something that informed him that a smarter man ought to indeed worry.   
  
  


⁂

 

 

" _This is ridiculous. You're getting no where."_

"Y'know? If you ain't gonna help me out, you can buzz off. Constructive criticism only."

" _This is a waste of time."_

"Well the human half of this duo has to eat too." Jesse sat with his legs overhanging the edge of the rooftop, heels bumping the adobe wall as they swung idly. His arms were looped through the iron bars of the fence that surrounded the picturesque little restaurant's outdoor seating area. Reaper sat in a chair like a proper human, the irony of which was not lost on the _actual_ human.

 The gunslinger held the folder on the other side of the bars, leafing through the pages listlessly as if he could glean information from them without actually  _looking_ at them. 

" _At this rate, you'll starve to death long before you make any progress."_

"Like I said, get helpful or shut up."   
  
" _You know the patterns of the attacks which means you can predict how they'll go after their next victim."_  
  
"And how the hell is that supposed to help if I can't predict who that'll be?"

" _Paint a target on your back. Make_ them _come to_ you. _"_

 This drew McCree's head up and he paused, processing the thought. "Y'know? That ain't a bad idea." He tossed a glance towards the shadowed individual, tossing him a grin. "You hungry?"  
  
" _Always."_

 

 

⁂

 

 

 "There you go; you're all set. Warehouse is at the location on the card and everything else is taken care of. Now remember, don't leave any traces behind -- if there's anything left that could lead them to you, clean them up quick."

"Got it. I owe you one, Dec."   
  
Declan laughed a bit, scratching at the back of his neck. "Well, technically you owe me a hell of a lot more than one."   
  
Jesse hummed quietly, straightening away from the chair that the hacker sat in, hunched over the keyboard. "Right. 'Bout that."  
  
The younger man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Look, man. I'm happy to do this for you, but I have to make ends meet too -- pay up or I'm tanking the whole project. It's nothing personal."  
  
"I know how it is, kid. Don't worry none." He reached over to ruffle Declan's hair, but the hacker pulled back with a soft groan, turning his attention back to the display before him.   
  
"You don't have the money, do y-"  
  
The small basement room did nothing to stifle the sound of the gunshot, letting it ricochet off the walls at a deafening decibel. Jesse didn't flinch. The screen flickered and died, cracks running up the thin glass panel where the bullet had pierced it, blood dripping down the broken surface.

There was a wet thunk as Declan's body collapsed forward, head striking the desk.   
  
"Nothin' personal, Dec. Cleanin' up loose ends." Jesse leaned forward and snatched up the envelope with the card, tucking it into his pocket with a glance towards the dark figure in the corner of the room. "Go on. I'll be outside when you're done."

 Heading up the steps, he entered the shop that acted as a front, slipping from behind the counter as the woman behind it frowned. "Was that a-"  
  
McCree slapped down a few credits and slid them her way with a charming smile. "You didn't hear nothin', sweetheart. You have a good day now."   
  
  


 


	4. Plucking Petals

_And I'm talkin' to myself at night_  
_Because I can't forget_  
_Back and forth through my mind_  
_Behind a cigarette._

* * *

 

 

The moon was a mere sliver where it tracked across the sky, hanging heavy amid the thick black of the night. Stars stretched far and wide, no big cities to clog the air with light that would choke them out.

The brightest light on the balcony came from the cherry of his cigar, burning coal-bright whenever he breathed in and flushed it rich with oxygen.    
  
“You ever get bored? Chasin’ me around all day.”   
_  
“I don’t exactly have alternatives.” _

“Yea’? I still don’t get how this works.”

_ “We made a deal.” _

“You got a face?” 

The question caught the Reaper off guard, obvious in the way he fell silent. McCree raised a thick brow and laughed from the gravel pit of his chest. 

  
“Relax. I just get curious ‘bout you is all. It’s been a might weird to have a companion like you. Not that I’m complainin’. You save my life; I save yours. Works out fine by me.”

The owl masked creature said nothing in reply which, in turn, drew a sigh from the cowboy.    
  
“Alright, alright. You win, partner. No more personal questions.” Jesse returned to smoking, head lolling back against the wall that he sat propped up against. It was a minute or two before the silence was broken once more, this time by the rasping voice he’d come to rather enjoy listening to.   
__  
“It’s better if I wear the mask.”   
  
“Not too pretty under there, I reckon. No business hidin’ otherwise.”   
  
_“How astute,_ ” the wraith drawled back, unimpressed with his deduction.    
  
The silence settled in, comfortable and feline. His cigar burning low, McCree sighed out a particularly thick plume of smoke. “Never told me if you get bored or not.”   
__  
_“Rarely._ ” A pause, and then,” _You’re amusing.”_   
  
This brought a wry grin to Jesse’s features and the man tossed a glance towards his companion, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yea’? I’ll be damned.” He dropped the still smoldering end of his cigar into a tray he’d dragged out to join them and puffed out the last little wayward cloud. “I’m gettin’ fond of you. Like a - a….” He searched for a word with a vague gesticulation of one gloved hand. “A shadow. It’s nice. Not bein’ so lonesome. Someone to talk to, at least.”    
  
Another minute passed without comment from Reaper and McCree shut his eyes. “Well. Someone to talk at, ‘leastways.”   
__  
“I’m not very conversational.”   
  
“Nah, really? Hadn’t noticed.” The tease would most certainly not warrant a response, so Jesse found himself pressing on. He sat up a bit, stretching his arms above his head as he spoke. “Not that that’s all bad, or nothin’. Sometimes it’s good to know when to shut the hell up, you kno-” He was nearly finished, dropping his hands when there was a tight grip on his wrist before it could touch the ground.    
  
He started -- first because it hadn’t really connected to him that Reaper could  _ touch _ him and second because the contact didn’t make a lot of sense.   
  
_“You were about to burn yourself_.” The gloved hand released his wrist and retracted as Jesse stared dumbly at the cigar still burning away just beneath his palm. “ _Idiot._ ” The jab didn’t carry much of a bite to it.   
  
“Yeah yeah, you say that like you don’t care,” the cowboy commented with an admittedly dopey grin, the kind that crinkled the edges of his eyes and left an endearingly lopsided quality to his features.   
  
_“Why wouldn’t I?_ ”    
  
This froze the grin there, then shifted first towards confusion and then towards something a little more nervous. “Wha’?”   
  
_“Is it so unreasonable to think I’ve come to care about your well being?_ ”    
  
“Don’t make much sense, seein’ as your-”   
  
_“A monster?_ ”   
  
“Wasn’t goin’ to be that harsh,” McCree admitted, but the wraith had hit the nail on the head rather well with his interjection. The man rubbed at the back of his neck, ruffling up the shorter hairs there. 

“ _You seem uncomfortable_.” It was a simple observation, but it left the creature’s human counterpart humming thoughtfully.

“Guess I always just assumed you put up with me because you had to. Though I s’pose that’s still true. This ain’t some sort of Stockholm Syndrome shit, is it? ‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to pull that kind of crap-”   
  
“ _You help me. It’s symbiosis, yes, but...You’re companionable."_ A pause there, where McCree could faintly make out the half shrug hidden in a roll of the other's shoulders. " _I_ _haven’t had that in-_ ”   
  
McCree perked up here, but the wraith stopped abruptly. Sensing he was treading into touchy territory, he latched onto the conversation and hauled it somewhere safer. “Well then I guess it works for both of us. Never did like ridin’ solo so much.” 

He let his comment rest before he figured that was enough revealing chatter for the night and made sure to grind the coals out against the tray before he picked himself up.

Reaper didn’t make any motions to follow him, so he started for the balcony doors so quick he damn near missed the quiet words that followed him inside.    
  


 

 _“Good night.”_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did tag mcreaper so I have to start delivering on these ships eventually


	5. Whiskey and a Red Moon

_He don’t mind the cadavers; he don’t mind human remains_ _  
_ _He got no problem sleepin’ at night; ain’t nothin’ a little whiskey won’t tame_  
 _I asked about ghosts and spirits; I asked him if he ever got spooked_ _  
_ _I asked him ever gets haunted by souls; but he reckons that he buries them too_

* * *

  
  
Bleary eyes blinked at bone-white features as the cowboy hefted his upper body into a sitting position with his good arm. “Hell you doin’ there?”   
  
No reply but the rattling, dry breath of his companion.   
  
He lifted a brow, reaching up to scrub his face with the heel of one palm. The shadows in the room seemed tangible, alive and agitated. Hungry. “Alright, alright. Got it. Just.. Gimme a damn minute, yea’?”   
  
He slipped out of the bed, noting where it dipped beneath Reaper’s weight. He hadn’t thought much about the creature’s affect on the environment around them until a few nights prior. Reaper had never touched him before then. McCree had long since assumed him to be more of a ghost than anything else.   
  
But ghosts didn’t starve, now did they?

  
⁂

  
He tugged on the end of the serape, settling it flatter over his shoulder and letting it drape over his hand. He ducked his head out the open window and tried to gauge the time by the moon, but it had vanished behind some obstruction on the cluttered environment framed by mesas and rooftops.

 

It was no use trying to talk to the wraith now. Intelligible conversation tended to go first. He’d never exactly felt it necessary to see what went next. Fun holstered, he tucked a knife against his hip for good measure. A cursory glance back at Reaper proved unsettling. There was something predatory in the hollow gaze, something about his very aura.

 

“Easy, easy,” he found himself muttering as the creature ghosted closer on unsteady footfalls. “just stick close, yea’? Get this over with.” He didn’t know if Reaper could still understand him, but it filled the silence between them and McCree relished anything that staved off an uncomfortable absence of conversation.

 

⁂

 

“I don’t want no trouble, sir.”

 

McCree cursed himself viciously for letting the man hear him. He was tired. Sloppy. He didn’t even have the spurs to blame. The man had backed into a dead end, so his time was short, but McCree didn’t like seeing their eyes.

 

“Stay back—“ Jesse’s hand shifted at his side and the man’s face sparked with terror. “Please! I have a daughter! She needs me— take my money, anything! Just let me-“ His pleading ended when the blade met his throat, stifling him with a wet sound. He clutched at the knife and foolishly tried to pry it free, blood gushing down his front and splashing the dirt specked cobblestones below. He toppled clumsily against the corner, sagging until the blood stopped pumping rhythmically out of the wound.

 

Reaper converged just as quick as Jesse turned his back to stalk away. Knives were messy; Reaper was worse.

 

⁂

 

The whiskey still burned, so he considered that reason to keep drinking. Daughter. He wondered idly how many kids he’d orphaned over the years. Then he made a notable effort to wipe those thoughts away. Didn’t matter, he decided, taking another hefty swig.

 

He sat on the balcony alone. Reaper kept to himself for awhile after he ate, the longest McCree’d been without his haunting company was two days. He’d started to worry by that point, too caught up in what had become his normal to really realize that, if Reaper didn’t return, Jesse was free to live a different life. Never turned out to matter, though, because the ghost found his way home and said nothing of his absence.

 

But McCree relished this time apart. When he could drink too much and feel wholly human. It was odd how supernatural he tended to feel just by keeping the company he did. But feeling human hurt, so he kept drinking until he had nothing left to down. Last call had come and gone, so going to a bar wasn’t feasible. The sunlight was beginning to leech color into an otherwise dark sky, signaling morning was there, or at least very nearly.

 

He hauled himself clumsily to his feet and let the sway in his step carry him back inside. He collapsed against the bed and kicked off his boots roughly, shedding gloves next on order to scrub at his eyes with his knuckles. The cowboy fumbled his way through the buttons on his shirt after shrugging off his serape and then shrugged the shirt off too. He was undoing the front of his pants to finish stripping down to what would pass for pajamas when a cold metal fingertips and skin-warmed, leather-clad hand slid over his.

 

He was too bewildered (and drunk) to be worried and his confusion only mounted as the other’s palm dipped lower.

 

“What the damn _fuck_ are you doing?”

 

_“Don’t ask stupid questions.”_

 

“ _Why_ are you…”

 

_“Do you want me to stop?”_

 

He considered this for a moment, which gave Reaper the time to rub at him in slow circles. Blood drained fast from his head and he let out a shaky laugh. “At least buy me dinner firs-“

 

 _“Do you want me to stop?”_ The voice came again from behind him, more firmly enunciated this time. This wasn’t a joke.

 

McCree swallowed. The reek of blood carried him somewhere dark.

 

“No.”

 

⁂

 

It was midday when he awoke, light streaming lazily through the cracked shutters. The dust caught the sun and created a slow ocean of specks that moved along with slow current of air circulating through the room. 

It was entirely too picturesque.

  
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. The plaster had chipped in a few places, another couple spiderwebs of cracks dancing through the off-white here and there.

  
“ _Sleep well? ”_

 

McCree felt a pang of discomfort twist in his guts at the rasping sound of Reaper’s voice. His mind twitched back to the drunkenly hazy memories from last night and he rolls once more onto his side, putting his back towards the suddenly intrusive presence of his ghastly companion. 

“Yea’,” came the gruff reply.

A pause fell between them before there was the sound of movement behind him and the entire room seemed to grow just a bit darker. 

“ _You regret it.”_

“ ‘Course I do. I got drunk and fucked around with a ghost.”

 

“ _I’m not a ghost._ ” Reaper sound vaguely annoyed, which was at least a partly welcome change from the usual monotone growl. 

“You know damn well what I mean.”

  
“ _No. I don’t understand, actually.”_ _  
_

_  
_ Jesse pushed himself up, grateful for only a moment that his head didn’t pound with the leaden weight of a hangover. “That was a mistake.”  There was no reply, so he finally turned brown eyes towards Reaper. “You realize _that_ , at least, right?”

 

“ _Why?”_

That gave the anachronistic cowboy pause, which he filled with a scratch against his jaw and an averted gaze. It didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t put to words any satisfactory answer for the waiting wraith.  
“You ain’t human, for one. For another…” He grimaced, finding himself lost again on what to say. “Just…It wasn’t right, okay? Can we just leave it there for now?” 

“ _Fine.”_ Reaper didn’t sound happy, but neither was McCree. Great way to start off a day, really, even if the day had started hours ago without them. 

“Let’s get movin’. Should get there today, even with the late start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting got so weird, so I apologize for the huge spaces between things, hopefully I can iron that out and fix it for next time!


	6. One Less | One More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mccree gets a little dramatic, rip

_ Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul _

_ Honey, make this easy. _

_ Leave it to the land, this is what it knows _

_ Honey, that's how it sleeps. _

* * *

 

The bounce of the old leather ball off the wall was the only sound aside from the rasp of McCree’s breath. He watched the ball trek back and forth from his hand to the wall, occasionally bouncing up to him off the floor.

 

“ _ So this is your plan? Sit around for days at a time?” _

 

“You wanted me to set a trap, now we wait for them to bite.”    
  
Reaper lurked nearby in a crouch, those hollow eyes resting their heavy weight on McCree. The bounty hunter paid him little mind, eyes still fixated on the ball as it completed its path over and over and over.

 

The wraith let the silence sit uncomfortably between them, but Jesse had no intention of breaking it. Finally there was the hiss of a sigh, the shift of leather against itself as the creature stood.  _ “You’re acting like a petulant child.”  _

 

This earned no comment from the cowboy. Reaper began to pace across the floor, footsteps quiet for such heavy boots. McCree didn’t pay his companion’s corporeality much mind.

 

_ “So you’re just going to ignore me? I’m not going anywhere, Jesse.” _

 

“A damn shame, too. I could use the time off from babysitting a goddamn monster.”

 

Reaper didn’t flinch, but Jesse could tell, even just from his peripheral vision, that the word bothered him.

 

_ “You really want me to leave?” _

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

_ “Answer the question.” _

 

McCree caught the ball, hand tightening around it as his gaze cut towards Reaper, finally locking to his mask.

 

“You really want to do this?” His tone was challenging and low in his throat, eyes narrowed a touch. Reaper didn’t reply, so he forged on, pushing himself up to his feet. “I’m sick and tired of feeding you, killing for you. Hell, I’m just flat sick of you. It’s been, what? Three? Four years? I ain’t ever alone, always hunting just to keep you satisfied. It’s exhausting.  _ You’re _ exhausting. I don’t know who you are --  _ what _ you are. I don’t believe for one second that you give a shit about me. I’ve seen what you’re capable of. Y’don’t much like it when I call you a monster? I hate to break it to ya, but that’s exactly what you are. So yea’. I want you gone. I’d love some fuckin’ time to myself for once. We’re not friends. You’re a burden, you understand? I made a deal with the devil so I could live and I ain’t gotten a chance to really be alive since. I’d rather be dead in that desert than here right now.”

 

The silence dropped between them once his voice finished echoing off the warehouse walls. It stayed there, choking the both of them, until finally Reaper simply tipped his head in a nod.  _ “I understand.” _

 

McCree waited for something else, but nothing else came. The wraith simply turned away, body dissolving back into the shadows and smoke. 

 

And with that, Jesse was alone.

 

⁂ 

 

A week after Reaper took his leave, McCree awoke to an alarm. 

 

The compact device he’d been carrying since he’d left Declan’s den chirruped at him urgently, words scrolling across the thin screen: Security Breach.

 

“Showtime.” 

 

He drew his revolver from under the rather threadbare pillow spinning it once before steadying it in his grip. He had been sleeping mostly dressed, slipping his feet into his boots as he swung his legs from the edge of the bed. Checking the alert, it displayed a small map of the warehouse with the compromised location in red.    
  
Slipping out of the offices he’d been using as a bedroom and into the warehouse proper, he checked the barrel. Loaded up and ready to deal with whomever had been causing his employers so much trouble, he got approximately four feet in that direction before there was cool metal jabbed hard against his back, a hand grasping the neckline of his shirt to keep him in place. 

 

He froze, hissing out a curse. How the hell did that bastard get behind him? He didn’t give his attacker any chance to speak, or shoot. With a sharp pivot, he broke the hold on his shirt and wrenched the gun to the side and safely pointed away from his body. He grappled for the other’s wrist and twisted the arm as he sidestepped around to pin it to their back and force them down to their knees. The gun tumbled from the hand now behind them and McCree kicked it away, safely disarming the other.

 

It was all...surprisingly effective. And easy. 

 

He took a few heavier breaths, gun in his other hand as he scanned the area around him for anyone else, but between their twinned breathing, there was no other sound. 

 

“How many you got here?” McCree tightened his grip on the wrist, tugging harshly to threaten them with the risk of a dislocated or broken arm when there wasn’t an immediate response.

 

This earned a strangled sound and a low hiss, but no offered information.    
  
“You either tell me or you get a bullet to the back of the head, buddy. Your options are running low an’ I got an itchy trigger finger. Hurry up now.” To emphasis this, he pressed the barrel of his Peacekeeper to the soft spot where the spinal cord links up at the skull.

 

“No! Wait!” 

 

This gave McCree pause -- that was a female voice. He drew the pressure of the gun back, still nestled against the fabric that stretched up over her head. Distracted by the revelation that his attacker had been a woman, he missed the fact her free hand had slipped to her belt. An odd looking device went skidding across the floor and before he could react, he was collapsing forward as a blur of purple sparks overtook the trespasser and she vanished from his grip. 

  
He fumbled to right himself before he pitched fully to the floor, catching sight of her again, bolting off into the shadowy warehouse and away from him.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

_ Bang. _

 

The girl hit the ground hard with a sharp cry, leg giving out as the bullet bit into it.   
  
McCree pushed himself all the way up and stalked forward with purpose, brown eyes narrowed. “Hold still or the next one goes through your spine.” Keeping the gun trained on her, he closed the gap between them quick enough. Not that she was going anywhere, collapsed in a heap with pained breaths as blood smeared against the concrete.

 

“You got buddies?” He crouched by her, just out of reach, gun still loosely aimed at her. She wore all black aside from an odd mask, an almost glowing calavera that turned up to look at him. 

 

“Answer the question, sweetheart.”

 

There was hesitation before finally she relaxed a little against the ground, fingers clutching at her knee but too afraid of the sting of pain to creep any lower on her injured leg. “No.”

 

“You best not be lyin’ to me.”

 

“I’m not!” There was a lilt to her words but he couldn’t yet place the accent with how little she’d spoken.

 

“Good. Now who’re you working for?”

 

“No one.”

 

_ Bang _ . 

  
He winced as the harsh sound left his ears ringing. If she cried out this time, he’d missed it, but she had curled up tighter. By the time the noise in his ears died down, he could hear her breathing turn ragged. 

 

“Who’re you working for?”

 

“No one!”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I told you! No one sent me,  _ te gilipollas. _ ” 

  
  
Ah, so she was Spanish. Made sense considering their current location just along the border. 

 

“You tryin’ to tell me you’re workin’ this job solo? I ain’t so sure I believe that.”

 

He cocked the gun again and she flinched with a sharp intake of breath. No pain followed, however, so she exhaled shakily. “Why do you care? You’re not La Suerte…”

 

“Sorry, darlin’, but I’m still the one with the gun, so I’ll be askin’ the questions. See, you’ve been causin’ my employer a lot of trouble an’ I got a hell of a lot of credits waitin’ for me soon as I clear things up.”

 

“They’re  _ playing  _ you. They won’t pay you a damn thing.”

  
“Already paid a third.”

 

“That’s pocket change to them. You won’t see another cent before they’ve got you six under.”

 

McCree hummed thoughtfully, scratching at his jaw idly with his free hand. Finally he leaned in closer and she withdrew ever so slightly with another flinch as he snatched up the mask and slipped it off.

 

One brow raised. She looked young. Younger than him, anyway. Bright purple eyes watched him warily, waiting silently as he appraised her.

 

“I ain’t so easy to kill, darlin’.”

 

“They have more resources than you do.”

 

“Fair enough, but I’m not too concerned.”

 

“I can prove it.”

 

Another cocked brow. “Yea’? Alright. I’ll bite. Prove it.”

 

“Call them; tell them I’m dead. Give it a week, maybe less.”

 

“I don’t love lyin’. I like to think I’m an honest man. I might as well just take my chances and kill you now. Cash like that makes a man a might brash.”

 

“I’m trying to help you! Give me one week. If no one comes, kill me and be done with it. Just one week… That’s all I’m asking.”

 

He paused, taking that in. He didn’t like shooting a lady to begin with, much less a younger one. What was one week more?

 

“Alright. One week.”

 

Maybe he was getting soft without Reaper around. She sighed in relief and let her head rest down against the concrete, breathing still labored. A pang of sympathy lanced through him and he rubbed at the back of his neck, holstering Peacekeeper. “Come on. I’ll get you to the back and we’ll get those bullets out.”

 

She was rather light all things considered as he picked her up, hauling her back to the offices where he kept his supplies. She was lucky he’d been prepared to get banged up or he wouldn’t have quite as much as he did. He laid her on the cot he’d been using to sleep on and noticed the pale pallor. She seemed relatively mouthy, so he took her silence to mean she didn’t have much of a pain tolerance.

 

He dug around for the items he needed, setting them beside the cot. He sat on the edge and snapped the latex of his gloves. “Alright, darlin’. I’ll do this quick as I can.”

 

⁂ 

 

Jesse realized he didn’t have her name about the time she’d passed out from exhaustion and pain medicine. He drummed up a nickname for the time being,  _ Amatista. _ Amethyst. Seemed fitting as anything for the moment. Seeing as she was well and truly unconscious, he decided to leave her be and go get them some more food. He’d been running low and he wouldn’t last a week without another run and now seemed a better time than later when she had a better chance of getting away from him.

 

He returned awash in cans and sealed packages, general non perishables that would feed them as well as anything else. He didn’t exactly have a refrigerator or a stovetop, so too much comfort and luxury was out of their current price range. 

  
He hauled the paper bags into the back room and found his impromptu companion curled up more comfortably under the thin blanket of the cot. 

 

Humming quietly, the gunslinger sorted out the various foodstuffs onto the shelves of what was clearly supposed to be an office considering the desk wedged in the other corner. He popped open a bag of freeze dried fruits and settled in on the worn wood of the desktop, one leg draped along the length of it while the other swung idly over the edge. 

 

The holo he retrieved projected a few stories pertinent to his interests, the soft blue lines forming various articles that held his attention for only short bursts. His focus strayed now and again to the image behind the pictures and words. The girl slept soundly like that for nearly an hour before she showed any signs of stirring. Even then, it seemed that after rolling over partly she would simply return to a restful sleep. Her eyes flickered open, however, and she took in the room with a grogginess that was caused in equal parts by the medicine and the after effects of shock. 

 

“Wh-” She broke off before she formed a word, finding McCree where he perched and falling silent for a beat.

 

“Mornin’, Sunshine. Though to be fair, it’s well into the afternoon.”

 

She eyed him without any comment before she pushed herself up to sitting, trailing a hand down the cut leggings that exposed the worst of the bandaged wounds. She touched the skin just beside the gauze with more curiosity than caution.  “It doesn’t hurt.” 

 

“Good, you’re drugged to hell’n’back an’ I treated you with biotics.”

 

She canted her head, brows furrowing lightly. “Where did you get those? No offense,  _ c _ _ abrón,  _ but you’re clearly not that rich at the moment.”

 

“Knicked it from a friend of mine awhile back. Necessary evil’n’all that. Hopefully she don’t miss it too much.” He smiled faintly at the memory and then sealed up the package, tossing it across the room to her. She flinched and did her very best to catch it, despite the opioids slowing her reaction time. It ultimately struck her shoulder and tumbled beside her amidst the blanket’s rumpled mass.

 

She eyed it, then eyed him. Debating something, she finally reopened the bag and picked out a handful of the thinly sliced fruits. After she had eaten a little something, she seemed a bit perkier. 

 

Giving her time to gather herself, he waited for her to speak first, still flicking through the news.

 

Finally she broke the silence. “ ‘Ey,  _ vaquero… _ Thank you. You know. For not killing me and all. Well, not killing me  _ yet _ , at least.” There was a note of discomfort beyond that left there by the notion of another altercation should a week pass without her predicted attack. He understood, though. She was clearly the type to rely on herself alone. It had to be infuriating to be at someone else’s mercy. 

 

“Not a problem, sweetheart.” He clicked the holodisk off and tucked it into a pocket, watching her intently now. “I got a soft spot for a pretty face.” They shared a look, his lips split in a brief grin and her own quirked up into a smirk. 

 

Pulling the blankets back over her legs and discarding the mostly empty fruit bag onto the floor beside the cot, she folded her hands up in her lap and fidgeted with her gloved fingers. “How long until I can walk?”

 

“On that leg? I’d give it three days. May not hurt so much but it’ll be weak. The muscle needs to repair and it ain’t pretty to push it too hard.” He’d had his fair share of overworking a healing wound. 

 

“Three days?” She groaned, leaning back against the wall and shutting her eyes. “I only paid for two nights.”

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“At  _ La Valle.  _ I only paid for two nights.”

 

“You’ll be fine here. I can take the floor and pick up an-”

 

“No, no, not that. My tech’s stored there,” she explained, lifting her head back up and reopening her eyes. “God knows what those  _ imb _ _ é _ _ cils _ will do with it.”

 

“You want me to go get the damn shit, just ask,” McCree replied, amused more than annoyed. 

 

“Would you?” 

 

“Magic word, darlin’.” Another grin met with a roll of amethyst eyes. 

 

“Please, it’s important. And rather expensive.” 

 

He pushed away from the wall and slid off the desk and to his feet. “Throw me the key and give me the room number. I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a longer chapter this time, gonna try to shoot for this sorta length for future updates 
> 
> also took me 6 chapters but sombra's finally actually in the fic now, yay!
> 
> thanks for reading!


	7. One More | One Less

_I took his six shooter, put two in his chest;_

_He'll never say a word no more._

_Oh, he'll never say a word no more;_

_The devil got him good for sure._

* * *

  
_Amatista._

 

It was three days before he finally, actually asked her name.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

 “It’s like takin’ in a stray. Avoid namin’ it until you ain’t got a choice but to get attached.”

She cast him a sideways glance, smirk playing across her lips. They were testing her leg, one arm of his hooked under her own and wrapped around her back to give her support. “So you’re getting attached.”

 “Never said that.”

“You implied it.”

He considered this for a moment. “Guess it gets hard to plan on killin’ someone once you let them get too human in your head.”

“You’ve killed a lot of people, haven’t you?” Her smirk had disappeared and when her gaze turned towards him it was critical and guarded.

“Define ‘a lot.’ “ He kept his own eyes forward, avoiding her stare.

“I think that answers my question just fine, actually.”  


⁂

 

It was four days before she told him.  


“Sombra.”

“ _Qué_?”

“No. _Usted pidió mi nombre_ . It’s Sombra.”  
  
He glanced over to her over the top of the holodisk’s projection. One brow quirked before he chuckled. “Alright. Awful shiny for a shadow.” Neural implants on either side of her head glowed a soft purple to match the color of her eyes, albeit a shade brighter and a good deal more fluorescent.

“Snuck up on _you_ , didn’t I?”

McCree took a moment to think that over, scratching at his jaw lightly. “Fair enough. Not many people get the drop on me.”

“Not many people are as good as me.”

“Careful, little lady. Hubris is a bitch.”

“It’s not hubris if it’s a fact.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

 

⁂

 

It was five days before things took a turn for the worse.

 

“Smoking’s bad for your lungs,” the voice came from behind him where Jesse leaned against the doorway to the back exit.

“Yea’? Never hear that one before.” He plucked the cigar from his mouth and rolled it between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

While he took a moment to consider it, she reached over and took it for herself. Offering a Cheshire grin, she put it to her lips and breathed life into the cherry red of the end. Exhaling, she handed it back with a rough cough.

“Not my taste,” she said once she’d gotten her breath back, swatting his arm at the grin he wore. “Quit looking so smug, it’s unbecoming.”

“Think so?”

The hacker shifted her weight off her still healing leg. While she could walk on it by herself now, it still must ache with overuse.

“Day’s closin’ up,” he remarked, gesturing loosely to the sunset painted across the sky behind the shambles of old buildings by the warehouse.

“Sure is. You’re very observant.”

“Hey, be nice now— you’re the one runnin’ in borrowed time. Best stay on my good side.” Another flash of his teeth before he placed the cigar back between them.

“Mm, I’m sure I know a thing or two I could do that would keep me there. A thing or two _we_ could do.”

He let one brow arch over the other as he knocked his hat back out of his eyes. She smirked when she caught his gaze. Jesse cleared his throat after a second and drew his focus back to the sunset, which was now being gradually overtaken by broad strokes of purples and blues.

“Purple your favorite color?"

“Not gonna bite?” She seemed mildly disappointed, but not particularly put out. “Your loss.”

He sighed then, breathing out wisps of smoke in the process. “How old are you?”

“You ask a lot of questions, _vaquero._ ”

“And you avoid ‘em like the plague.” Turning the dark brown of his eyes towards her, he folded his arms across his chest. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“Yea’, not buyin’ it. You’re just a kid, I ain’t that sorta folk. I don’t…” He shook his head with another exhale. “I ain’t that kinda man.”

“Then what kind are you?”

“The kind who’s goin’ to bed.” He pivoted on his heel and started back into the warehouse. The door swung closed behind them and plunged them back into semidarkness.

“It was just a joke,” she protested, soft footfalls following the heavy thump of his boots. “You’re awful touchy. And for the record, I’m twenty-two.”

He stopped at that, cutting a glance to her as she stuttered to her own halt by his side. “Bullshit.”

“I am!”

“And I’m callin’ bullshit. Don’t make me shoot your other leg.”

A beat of silence passed. “Eighteen.” So he was seven years her senior.

“Christ, kid.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, carelessly discarding the cigar and grinding his heel into the coals until the glow subsided.

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what you are. Look, kid-“

She socked him in the chest, bristling. “I am not a _child!”_

“And your name isn’t Sombra.”

“It is now.”

“What kind of parent would call their kid that?”

“The kind that died in _La Medianoche_.”

This gave him pause and she forged on through it without giving him a chance to cut in. “Those ‘kids’ left behind after the Crisis? You either learned to grow up or you died in the streets like a stray dog. I’m not a child. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“A sob story won’t help you get in bed with me.” His reply was dry and had an edge that had her stepping back with an offended huff. He took that opportunity to start back on his trek to their makeshift living quarters.

“You know what it’s like too, don’t act like you don’t.” He didn’t reply, but he did stop. She took that chance to catch up to him, reaching for his shoulder. The second her hand touched him, however, he was whipping around and grabbing her wrist almost painfully hard.

“Shut up.”

Startled, she tried to pull away and after a second tug he let her go. “Why ar-“

“I said _shut up_.” His eyes were elsewhere and his hand had fallen to his revolver, which drew her thoughts out of their previous altercation. Knowing better than to talk over whatever he heard, she fell still and let silence prowl between them. Straining to hear … something, she waited for several long seconds before he relaxed.

“Must’ve-“ before he could finish, the door buckled under the weight of a heavy heel, banging open as the lock and handle broke from the force.

“Shit-“ he hissed out the curse and grabbed her with one hand, shoving her behind him. “Stay back and don’t get shot.”

With that, he fired off a round at the first figure through the door, only to watch them shrug it off. “Body armor. _Shit.”_ He adjusted his grip and grit his teeth. “Alright. Go get-“ A cursory glance over his shoulder proved that she was nowhere to be seen. Well alright then.

“Damn bitch.” He fired again but there were already too many figures pushing into the room that he was grossly outnumbered. More importantly, they outnumbered his bullets. If he wanted to live, he was going to have to get creative.

And, well, he sure didn’t want to die.

In the dim light he saw their weapons well enough to tell the shape of short ranged dangers. Shotguns, a few stun batons and the wicked glint of a knife here and there.

“Ladies, ladies, I’ll save a dance for all of you-“ The first few rounds from their side split the stale warehouse air with their sound and he dove backwards into a roll before kicking up to standing. Two shots of his own, only one of which even staggered one of them.

He couldn’t take them all on this close together, not when they were pressing in, trying to circle up so he had nowhere to run.

 

So run he did, ran like hell. There was a few shots taken after him but none hit their mark, a few pellets peppering through his serape.

He wove into the old cargo containers, dodging around them to try and make a large loop back and catch a few from behind.

“Fan out!” The order came at a good time. Spreading out meant they would be easier to take one on one. He rounded a corner and came face to face with one of the soldiers. Startling them both.

McCree reacted quicker, slamming a fist into his face and knocking him back in his ass. He caught the poor bastard’s jaw with the toe of his boot as he kicked out at him, effectively lying him flat.

Upon examining him, the gunslinger groaned in annoyance. Stun baton. He was hoping for something with a little more firepower. He still grabbed it and twirled it in his hand, trying to calibrate to the weight of it. Heavy on the front end— just meant it’d pack a punch.

He started forward, listening for the shift of footsteps around him as he stalked through the shipping containers.

Coming up on two men together, he held the button down on the baton as he swung it for the first man’s neck, catching him from behind.

The figure dropped heavily to the side, collapsing against his friend. McCree took that opportunity to drop the baton and snatch for his the knife the remaining man held before he could lunge in.

They grappled for a moment before McCree got the upperhand, knee coming up to bash into the man’s chest. Getting ahold of the blade as it loosened in his hand, Jesse twisted it about and rammed it into his throat as he doubled over.

Kicking the man to the side, he jerked the knife free and spun on his heel, hurling it behind him at the sound of footsteps. It whizzed past the target and he cursed, not enough room to roll out of the way of the shotgun blast that came his way. He shielded his face with his arm, hissing sharply as he felt the shrapnel bite his skin near the elbow in several places. Dropping forward into a roll, he took the man down with a shoulder rammed into his shins.

Toppling him and twisting onto his back, Jesse kicked at his attacker to try and land a solid strike to his hand and get the shotgun out of the equation.

 

There was another blast behind him somewhere and the sound of an uzi unloading a clip— and a few curses in Spanish. Sombra.

Distracted briefly by this, he missed the man getting his own boot wedged up under Jesse’s jaw. Dazed as it knocked his head back against concrete in the process, the young gunslinger failed to wrench himself free before the shotgun was pointed down at his chest.

 The blast caught him off guard and he’d never been quite so relieved to have had his armor on. It still buckled and cracked, leaving his ribs in poor condition and the front of his shirt splashed with blood. It was better than being dead, but not by too much.

 

With the foot pressing down harder against his neck, he barely heard his name called out over the rush of blood trapped in his ears.

 

Stars overtook part of his vision as the shotgun was brought towards his head. Without thinking of the consequences, he grabbed the barrel and shoved it to the side with one hand.

The sound deafened McCree on the right side where he’d reoriented the barrel of the gun.

It singed his palm and the inside of his fingers which had him letting go instinctively for a moment. As it wheeled back towards his face and his breath shortened further under the pressure of the boot trapping his head down by the neck, McCree made a bad call.

His hand closed around the front of it, palm flat against the end of the double barrel in order to pull it to the right side at the last second.

He could feel the circles pressed against his skin for an instant.

 

And then the man pulled the trigger and for a split second, McCree felt nothing at all.

 

The pain didn’t register at first, instead the rush of air and blood flow distracted his addled senses as his opponent was knocked back by a blur of something darker than the dim warehouse surroundings.

Head swimming, the pain struck like a shark in the water and he _screamed_ as it raced up from his forearm and consumed him.

Eyes screwed shut and body arching, he gritted his teeth in an attempt to shut himself up, but a choked sob tore free from his bruised and bloodied  chest.

There was a sharp, feminine shriek— he faintly registered that his impromptu captive was in trouble but couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but how fucking _badly_ it all hurt.

The ground under him was slick with his own blood by the time he managed to roll over onto his side, making standing up even more impossible than it had been before. He faintly heard gunfire, more screaming— not Sombra this time— more shouting and footsteps.

And speak of the devil, his tunnel vision, blurred with tears, caught a glimpse of streaks of purple light as a hand pushed him onto his back again.

“McCree!” He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to respond. “Hold on, it’s going to be okay-“ Even in his half awake and fading state he picked up on her badly masked panic.

He coughed up what he could only loosely guess was blood, eyes sliding shut again until he was jerked back towards consciousness by a hard slap to his cheek.

_"¡No te mueras!”_

He couldn’t be arsed to reply, thoughts foggy and pain gradually subsiding in favor of the cold icy grip of shock.

Before he was pulled under, he took some small comfort in her presence.

   
Someone to miss him when he died.

  
 It was more than he probably deserved.


	8. Red Handed

* * *

_ In darkness, he looks for the light that has died, _

_ But you need faith for the same reasons that it’s so hard to find, _

_ And this whole thing is headed for a terrible wreck, _

_ And, like good tragedy, that’s what we expect. _

* * *

 

He didn’t awake with any kind of start, no sudden flash of open eyes. It was a gradual flutter that gave way to vacant staring as his brain tried to churn through the fog and process what he was seeing. One by one his senses seemed to come back to him until finally he could make sense of his surroundings.

 

There was a rhythmic beeping that was quickly dismissed as his heartbeat, though it was hooked up to a laptop rather than a full monitor. The room was far from a white, sterile hospital ward. It was dark, by way of both the furnishings and the dim lighting.

 

He was laying on his back in a small bed, thin sheets pulled up over his body. He was, rather alarmingly, dressed in a pair of loose sweatpants and a slightly ill fitting t-shirt that he certainly did not own. He didn’t fancy the idea of being stripped and changed while unconscious, but he supposed those doctoring types knew what they were doing for the most part.

 

Sitting up, he reached to scrub at his eyes, jolting a little when cool metal touched his skin. He snapped his gaze to his hand, watching the low light glint off the metallic plating for several long seconds before he realized that it was, in fact, a brand new limb. Bandages wound up from his elbow and a few were wrapped under the shirt and over his shoulder, but all in all? He was alive and that wasn’t nothing. It, surprisingly, was only accompanied by mild discomfort at the joint, otherwise pain free. The hazy fog of anesthetics clung to him like damp clothes, slowing his movements and stalling his thoughts to some degree.

 

It was then he heard the soft, sleepy sound of Sombra stirring across the room, curled up in an armchair far too comfortable to belong in a real hospital room.

“Mornin’,” he croaked, wincing at the thick, unused sound of his own voice. 

She flashed a bleary smile, rubbing a hand over her face as she sat up. “There you are. Liking the new equipment?” 

“Y’mean this thing?” McCree hefted up his left arm and eyed it critically. It would take a lot of getting used to, frankly. It felt different than his arm but, as he faintly recalled, there probably wasn’t much chance of salvaging that lost limb. The replacement was a bit heavier. He bet it’d pack a hell of a punch though. “Sure is shiny,” he finally replied, dropping it to his lap once more. “Where the hell are we?”

“A friend’s.” How unhelpfully cryptic.

“Don’t look much like a hospital.” His observation earned a reedy laugh as the girl in the chair untangled her limbs and slid to her feet, arching her back with her arms stretched above her head.   
  
“Didn’t say it was a hospital, now did I?  _ Relájate, _ she had her official medical license revoked so she operates under the table.”   
  
Jesse let one thick brow quirk above the other as he watched her. “How in the hell is that supposed to make me relax?”   
  
“Oh, like a man with the bounty you’ve got needs to be in hospital records.”

He considered this for a moment before nodding absently. “Yeah, yeah. Fair enough.” With a low sigh, his organic hand lifted to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to avoid catching himself up in the tubes connected to the IV in his arm. His thoughts filtered back towards the memories that hovered just before the empty void of his blackout. He frowned.

“How did you get me out of there, anyway?” He couldn’t imagine she took out the rest of those folks on her own when she’d been so easy to subdue in the first place. He also couldn’t exactly picture her hauling his dead weight around. 

Sombra sank back into the chair once she was satisfied with her attempt to limber up. “Your friend showed up. By the time I got to you, he’d taken care of most of them. Helped me get you here and stepped out. Hasn’t come back yet, that I know of.”    
  
“Friend?” The cogs stuck on the word in his head, refusing to turn.   
  
“Yeah, Gabriel, I think it was.” 

  
The name didn’t register. “Who?”   
  
Sombra blinked once before laughing once more. “Those meds kicked your ass flat, huh? He--”   
  
She broke off as the door swung open, allowing in a tall, slender woman with sharp and angled features. Her red hair was slicked back out of her face, which wore a thin smile beneath dual colored, calculating eyes. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she didn’t wait for an answer before she strode over to the computer to examine the numbers scrawled on the screen. “It’s good to see you awake. I trust you’re not in too much pain?”   
  
“You must be the doc that patched me up, eh? I feel pretty fine, considerin’ the circumstances. Name’s-”   
  
“Jesse McCree,” she finished for him, casting a cool glance towards him. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure.” She finished looking over his vitals and, seemingly satisfied, straightened up and offered him a hand. 

“Doctor O’Deorain.”

“Doctor? Thought your license was revoked.”

Her next smile was chillier. “I still have several doctorates even if I’ve been… banned from officially practicing medicine.”

  
Jesse could sense a shady character pretty damn far away, but he didn’t press for now. No need to bite the hand that had kept him alive and given him his arm back. “Gotta hand it to ya,” he began, lifting his metal limb to flex his fingers curiously. “This is certainly somethin’.”   
  
The doctor chuckled, running her fingers along the IV where it met the mostly emptied bag. “That wasn’t my handiwork. I work with organics and biotics. Metal and wires were never my strongest suit. They’re rather unsophisticated.” 

His brows scrunched together and he glanced past O’Deorain towards Sombra, who waved with a curl of her fingers. “You’re welcome. Also-- unsophisticated? I’m hurt.” 

“You built this thing?” His brows arched. She certainly was full of surprises.

“Custom piece. It could use some tweaking, but it’ll get the job done. You’re lucky I’m not charging you.”

As the doctor switched out bags of clear liquid, McCree laughed a little as he eyed the hacker. “Didn’t take you for a mechanic.”

“Everyone’s got hobbies,” she replied, grinning with a flash of white teeth. Her gaze cut towards the door at a soft sound and she perked up. “There he is-- our patient’s awake.”

“ _ So I heard.”  _

Jesse stiffened considerably at that voice, his own eyes snapping to the still open door where a very… human looking man stood, swathed in black. He had dark eyes and darker hair, scars rippling along his cheek. Handsome, even with the marks of past fights displayed so prominently across his face. An unfamiliar face at that. 

McCree knew that voice, though. There was no mistaking the rasping growl that had been his only constant companion for several long years.   
  
Reaper met Jesse’s gaze quietly before the cowboy straightened up. This was a lot to take in, but he couldn’t process everything quick enough to keep up with how many people were suddenly in the room. Chest tight, he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose. “Can I have a minute with him-- alone?” He reopened his eyes in order to look towards O’Deorain and Sombra, hoping his expression didn’t betray the mix of emotions that were currently warring within him.    
  
The doctor bowed her head. “Of course.”   
  
As she headed for the door, Sombra strayed back as she picked herself up out of the chair. Under the gaze of both Gabriel and McCree, however, she ducked her head and padded to the door, slipping past the Reaper, who shut the door behind her once she was out of sight.

 

 

Jesse waited a few moments, looking Gabriel over before he sighed, shoulders deflating with the weight of it all. “I’m sorry.”

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel said nothing, head tilted incrementally. It felt odd to see his eyes, his  _ face _ instead of the empty, hollow sockets of the mask that he’d grown so accustomed to. 

“How long were you following me?”   
  
At this, Reaper’s expression changed ever so slightly, though with what emotion, McCree couldn’t quite place. “ _ I never left. _ ” 

“You-” He broke off, realizing that, logically, it made sense. If Reaper could be seen when he wanted to and by whom he desired, of course he could keep himself hidden from McCree. He simply never had to do so before. “Gotcha.” 

Silence fell between them again and Jesse finally broke it, hand rubbing at his jaw. “You look--”

“ _ Normal?” _

“Well… Yeah. Human. Why Gabriel?”   
  
“ _ It’s my name.” _

It was in that moment that McCree realized he hadn’t ever asked if Reaper had a real name. He’d never regarded him as human, but it was hard not to when he stood in the room with him, face bare. “Ah.”

Another beat of silence.   
  
“I owe you. For savin’ me.”   
  
“ _ Hardly. We have an agreement: I keep you alive; you keep me alive. I was doing my part.”  _

Jesse pondered this for a few more moments before he shrugged, a twinge in his shoulder making him grimace. He brushed the discomfort aside and cleared his throat.

“How come you never took the mask off ‘round me?” 

“ _ I rarely look this human,”  _ the wraith explained, reaching up to rub at his jaw, as if the skin were uncomfortable against his bones. “ _ I… ate well. Helps me keep up appearances.” _

The men in the warehouse probably looked a hell of a lot worse, then, McCree figured.

As the gunslinger opened his mouth to offer a retort, he paused at the predatory edge to Reaper’s expression. Eyes narrowed, jaw set. Jesse couldn’t shake the notion he was hunting something.

A half minute of silence and stillness passed before Gabriel broke the tension. He moved in a blur, body wreathed in dark smoke. McCree couldn’t process it fast enough, by the time his groggy awareness caught up to the events, Reaper was pinning the flickering form of Sombra to the wall, the length of his arm jammed under her chin to force her head up and limit her oxygen. She clawed at his arm in an ultimately futile attempt to pry it free, eyes wide and terrified.

“The hell—“

“ _ Didn’t anyone ever tell you? Curiosity killed the cat.” _

_ “ _ Reaper!” Jesse shifted up, though he was stuck in place with the IV in his arm and lead in his limbs. He cursed under his breath, trying to piece together coherency while his thoughts lagged behind the present moment.

The creature’s eyes snapped back towards McCree, the pupils pulsing red against a black sclera.

_ “She knows.” _

Logically, this was a death sentence. Reaper was a well kept secret and McCree’s serial murders needed to stay unconnected to his already substantial bounty. 

Sombra mumbled something quickly, voice too hoarse and low for Jesse to pick up properly. The wraith remained still and unrelenting, unnatural claws curving at the ends of his gloved hands.

“Don’t.” 

“ _ She’s already proven herself untrustworthy, you really want to let her walk away from this?”  _

“We ain’t just killin’ her! Let her down and we’ll try to talk this out civilized like.” He ought to let his companion silence her then and there, but…

He was a little attached to her wellbeing, it would seem.

Reaper growled low in his throat, guttural and dangerous, but stepped back. Sombra slumped against the wall, panting roughly as she caught her breath. The fear hadn’t left her but the tension locked in her muscles suggested she was still ready to fight if it came to it. 

McCree knew she’d be easy prey against Reaper’s strength alone but there was something almost endearing about her will to live. He’d seen it before in some of his victims. Those killings always left a bad taste in his mouth that he usually washed down with whiskey.

“She knows what we’re up against,” McCrew pointed out, banking on shoddy rationale to keep her alive. It wasn’t half bad, but he wasn’t exactly a lawyer— especially not with the state he was in. “I could use someone to watch my back.” 

“ _ You have me.” _

There was a distinct note of jealousy in the other’s gravely tone. McCree reached up with his right arm, pinching the bridge of his nose. That’s what this was about.

“You ain’t so great with sharin’, huh? Look— she helped save my goddamn life, now I gotta return the favor.”

“I’m still in the room,” Sombra pointed out brazenly, despite the way her voice shook from her frazzled nerves. “I can defend myself.”

“ _ I’d keep quiet if I were you.”  _

Jesse breathed out a heavy sigh, hand sliding around to the back of his neck. He needed a haircut soon. 

“It won’t hurt to have help, Reap. Just because we’ve been doin’ this on our own doesn’t mean we have to keep goin’ that way. ‘Sides, I ain’t inclined to help whoever sent those folks after us by taking her out of the equation.”

“You’ll need my help. They almost killed you once, they’ll try again before the month is done as soon as you resurface.” She dared to pull her gaze away from Reaper and let her eyes alight on Jesse. Pushing herself away from the wall, she took a few earnest steps towards the bed, despite the way he wraith’s cautionary snarl stiffened her stance. 

“Running won’t work— we have to stop them at the source. At least let me show you I can be useful. Once we’re done there, you can decide if I’m worth keeping around.” She swept a glance towards Gabriel who folded his arms across his chest with a displeased expression carved into stony features.

McCree exchanged a moment of silence with the wraith before he nodded and let his own gaze slide to meet Sombra’s. “You seem like you know how to keep a couple secrets. Don’t make me regret letting you walk outta here, got it?”

She chanced a grin, relief evident in the slump of her shoulders. “Got it, chief.”


End file.
